


MEMO: Roleplaying

by convolutedConcussion



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Dolls in Glasses, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, the public indecency and lewd behavior were coming from inside the police station the whole time!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convolutedConcussion/pseuds/convolutedConcussion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*contains no actual roleplaying</p>
            </blockquote>





	MEMO: Roleplaying

**Author's Note:**

> Just... more mandatory filth inspired by [this gif](http://67.media.tumblr.com/ca9c003c438a67442b40ed28e1025153/tumblr_o7nr4tsr971r0fvtfo7_400.gif) of Dolls. Like... just assume they're in an established relationship or fling or something? Just... *aggressive handwave*

It’s always weird to beat Dolls to the station.  It always feels too empty, too quiet, and she _knows_ there’s work to do but her work is usually just point-and-shoot.  She drops her box of donuts on the table, snags a jelly one for her—segregated from the plain donuts with extreme prejudice because what kind of person likes plain donuts?—before plopping into a chair and kicking her feet up.  As time passes, she works through enough of the dozen to make her feel a little sick, and, just when she contemplates eliminating the temptation by pawning the rest of the donuts to Nicole, the door swings open.

And her mouth goes dry.

“Sorry, I had a meeting,” Dolls greets, not lifting his eyes from the file he’s carrying.

Not that she’s actually listening—she’s a little distracted by the suit… and the glasses.

This is worse than when he’s just waltzing around half-naked.  And sweaty.  Okay, maybe not worse than that.  It’s still pretty bad.

“Huh?” she manages to grunt after way too long.  “Is there a reason you’re dressed like a naughty professor?” she asks, letting her feet stomp to the floor so she can lean her elbows on the table.  “Did I miss a memo about roleplaying?”

“Wynonna,” he warns even as he twists his chair when she rolls toward him.

Smile playing on her lips, she winds his tie around her finger, tugging him forward.  “Gee, Professor,” she mocks, voice pitched higher than usual, “I sure wish there were _something_ I could do to bring my average up.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to her lips.

“Yeah,” she agrees, unknotting his tie and tossing it onto the table, then attacking his buttons.  “But like, in the ‘you turn me on in the weirdest way,’ right?”

“Here, though?” he asks doubtfully even as he slides his hands up her thighs.  “Anyone could walk in—your sister could walk in.”

She makes as show of rolling her eyes as she stands, makes her way to the door, and flips the lock.  “ _No one_ ,” she says, “Is going to walk in.  Besides, they’re all too scared you’ll have them tried for treason.”

When she turns back to him, he’s leaning way back in his chair and she makes her way back over, bends over him to mash a bruising kiss to his lips.  He stands, pressing her backwards into the table so hard it almost hurts.  He kisses her greedily, slick and biting, and she tries to suppress a moan.  His fingers dig into her hair, scratch at her scalp, and she gasps.

“Shh,” he whispers, “Someone’ll hear.”

Sneaking her hands between them, she untucks his shirt and works open his buttons.  “You’re no fun,” she responds, tracing a line down the middle of his chest, down his belly.  As she nips and sucks at his throat, she cups the bulge in his pants, stroking him slowly until she can hear his faint, choked noises of pleasure.

Suddenly, he grabs her wrist, voice low in her ear as he orders, “Turn around, and I’ll show you ‘fun.’”

“I sorta love it when you try to talk dirty,” she groans softly, obeying surprisingly happily.  She has to bite her lip to quiet the sound that threatens to escape her when his hot hands roam over her stomach, over her bra.  His teeth are at her neck when he pops the button of her jeans, shoves them down until they’re bunched around her knees.

Maddeningly slow, he slides his fingers between her legs, throwing bolts of grueling pleasure into her belly.  She can’t endure very much of this, soon her hips are rocking, chasing friction, and she’s pleading for more.  His teeth graze her ear as he withdraws his fingers, and she lets out a pent-up breath of frustration.  She can hear him yank down his zipper and the sound of a wrapper being ripped open.

She sucks in a sharp breath when he presses into her, then both hands grip her hips, pulling her back to meet him.  When he doesn’t immediately start moving, she lets her hips start bucking slowly, lets her head fall back as a quiet moan escapes her parted lips. 

Her breath hitches when he thrusts, hard, shoving into her relentlessly, one hand moving up to grasp her shoulder to hold her in place.  She can’t help the choked cry when his fingers find their way back to her clit, moving just shy of too hard until the pressure building up reaches an agonizing crescendo—she bites hard on her hand to muffle her moans of pleasure, shuddering as his hips jerk even harder, losing their rhythm as his breath goes quick, staccato.  

He presses his face into the juncture of her neck and shoulder when his own climax hits him, groaning into her skin as his movements slow.  His pants come hard and powerful on the back of her neck.

“Goddamn,” she hisses as he pulls away.  She yanks her jeans up and pushes her hair off her sweaty face.

Knees feeling a little weak, she turns around to sit on the table.  She watches him button up his wrinkled shirt and smiles crookedly.  He smacks their lips together, once, hard, before asking, “Was this really just about my glasses?”

“Listen,” she says, “I didn’t come here to be shamed.  And, yes, initially.”

He looks like he’s about to respond when someone knocks at the door.

**Author's Note:**

> Har, har, remember when I said I'm not a smut writer? This is still true. Anyway, don't be afraid to stop by my [Tumblr!](http://johnisntevendead.tumblr.com)


End file.
